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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260609">The First Cut is the Deepest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelilahMcMuffin/pseuds/DelilahMcMuffin'>DelilahMcMuffin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Randoms - A Series of Random Prompts [32]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e07 The Barbecue, Established Relationship, Jukebox Prompt, M/M, Patrick doesn’t go to the BBQ...but Rachel does, The BBQ AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:14:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelilahMcMuffin/pseuds/DelilahMcMuffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I thought...I want you back, Patrick. Wanted you back,” she corrects herself. He can hear it in her voice, she knows now for sure that is not going to happen. </p><p>She explains about Alexis and the barbecue. Patrick feels a pang of annoyance that Rachel—a <em>stranger</em>—was invited to the Rose’s family barbecue, but he wasn’t. But that’s a thought for another time. Rachel tells him about how she had sat talking to David over wine and sliders, how he had gushed about his wonderful boyfriend, how it was their four month anniversary, how he’d never been happier, and never been so scared. </p><p>He’d begun to describe his boyfriend. Button-face, golden brown eyes, hair that’s somehow brown and ginger at the same time. Legs like tree trunks; sturdy and beautiful. </p><p>She’d told David about her fiancé. How he’d come to Schitt’s Creek a few months ago after a bad break up, how they’d met in high school, how they’d gotten back together the last time when he finished business school. </p><p>David had looked at her, brow furrowed. Asked her fiancé’s name. She’d told him. Patrick. <em>His name was Patrick.</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer &amp; Rachel, Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Randoms - A Series of Random Prompts [32]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556491</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Rosebudd Ficlets</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The First Cut is the Deepest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphinaBoswell/gifts">DelphinaBoswell</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For DelphinaBoswell and her excellent prompt: <em>What if Patrick doesn't go to the Barbecue, but Rachel does? And she and David discover their connection to Patrick.</em></p><p>I should note that I have been working on this prompt for exactly 9 months. Sorry it took so long, friend!</p><p>Title is taken from the song of the same name by Cat Stevens (and Sheryl Crow).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patrick is just getting out of the shower when he hears his phone ping. With a towel wrapped around his waist he pads down the hall to his bedroom and picks it up from where it’s been charging on his bedside table. </p><p>Yet another text from Rachel. He is about to hit the delete button when his eyes land on the actual words... </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    <span class="header">Rachel </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="time"><b>Today</b> 7:57 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text"> YOU’RE GAY?! </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text"> You’re gay. </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text"> You. Are. Gay. </span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text"> Fuck Patrick.  </span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
</div><p>Patrick stands, dumbfounded, staring at the text on his screen. How could she—</p><p>It takes a moment to register that his phone is ringing. Rachel is calling him. </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“You could have just told me.” Rachel’s voice is calm, but not calm. There is a hint of a tremor, of emotion just below the surface. </p><p>“I...I didn’t know myself,” Patrick explains lamely. “Not until recently.” <em> Not until exactly four months ago </em>, he doesn’t add. She doesn’t need to know. </p><p>Rachel is silent on the other end of the line. He can hear her breathing, the little catch that tells him she’s trying hard not to cry. He feels his own throat constricting with emotion. He’s hurt her, he knows. He never wanted to hurt her. </p><p>“Rach...”</p><p>“No. You don’t get to <em> ‘Rach’ </em> me. Not anymore,” her voice is firm. The tremor is gone now. She’s put her emotions away. They were always both so good at that. “I just called to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I came here, I’m sorry I wasted my time trying to fight for us. And I’m sorry if...if I messed things up for you and your...your boyfriend.”</p><p>Patrick shakes his head. “How could you...wait, what? What do you mean?” He feels icy rivulets of fear begin to trickle down his spine. “How do you know about David?”</p><p>“I came here, Patrick. To your little town. To talk to you.”</p><p>
  <em> “What?!?” </em>
</p><p>“I thought...I want you back, Patrick. <em> Wanted </em> you back,” she corrects herself. He can hear it in her voice, she knows now for sure that is not going to happen. </p><p>She explains about Alexis and the barbecue. Patrick feels a pang of annoyance that Rachel—a <em> stranger—</em>was invited to the Rose’s family barbecue, but he wasn’t. But that’s a thought for another time. Rachel tells him about how she had sat talking to David over wine and sliders, how he had gushed about his wonderful boyfriend, how it was their four month anniversary, how he’d never been happier, and never been so scared. </p><p>He’d begun to describe his boyfriend. Button-face, golden brown eyes, hair that’s somehow brown and ginger at the same time. Legs like tree trunks; sturdy and beautiful. </p><p>She’d told David about her fiancé. How he’d come to Schitt’s Creek a few months ago after a bad break up, how they’d met in high school, how they’d gotten back together the last time when he finished business school. </p><p>David had looked at her, brow furrowed. Asked her fiancé’s name. She’d told him. <em> Patrick. His name was Patrick.  </em></p><p>“Oh...oh God...” Patrick can’t breathe. He can’t think. He feels like his skin is on fire. </p><p>“Patrick?”</p><p>He squeezes his eyes shut. His hands are shaking and he feels like his heart is going to thud right through his ribs. “I’m here,” he whispers. God, is that his voice? He sounds shredded. Torn. Desiccated. </p><p>He hears Rachel sigh. “Are you okay?”</p><p>He shakes his head. He knows she can’t see him, but he can’t seem to form words. How can Rachel care if he’s okay when he’s just made such a mess of everything? He’s hurt her. And David. <em> Oh God. </em></p><p>“David.” The name falls off his tongue with a heave of his chest. His face is wet with tears. </p><p>“Oh Patty,” Rachel says, the kindness in her voice making Patrick feel even worse. “Do you want to talk?”</p><p>Patrick wipes at his face with the back of his hand, forcing himself to take a deep breath, then another. “I, um...we should. I owe you that much at least.”</p><p>“You don’t owe me anything, Patrick,” Rachel says evenly. But he knows he does. He owes her so much. More than he has to give right now.</p><p>“I, um, I have to talk to David, though.” He doesn’t add that he needs to do that first. Before he can talk to Rachel, he needs to know that David is okay. That he hasn’t just ruined things between them. That he never should have sent that fucking cookie. He turns to his drawer and rummages around for clean underwear and socks. “So maybe...wait, where are you staying?”</p><p>He knows before she says it. Because where else would she stay? Of course she’s staying at the motel where his boyfriend lives. Because life is unfair that way.</p><p>“Okay. I’m on my way to the motel,” he says, slipping his feet into the legs of his sweatpants and awkwardly yanking them up with one hand. “Just...let me talk to David first. What room are you in?”</p><p>He makes note of her room number and hangs up, pulling a t-shirt over his head and shoving his arms into a faded blue zip-up hoodie. He grabs his phone and keys and bounds down the stairs. He yells to Ray that he’s going out and pulls open the front door. He’s in the car, halfway to the motel when he realizes he’s still in his sock feet. He hasn’t even put on shoes.</p><p>
  <em> Sock feet in a public place is also incorrect. </em>
</p><p>David would think it was funny. He would pretend to be horrified, but he would tuck a smirk into his cheek, amusement dancing in his beautiful, dark eyes.</p><p>Patrick wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but it comes out in a slightly hysterical sob. There is nothing funny about his current situation. </p><p>Patrick pulls into the motel parking lot and turns off the ignition. In the fading light as evening turns into night, he sees Stevie and Mr. Rose putting away the remnants of what must have been the barbecue Rachel had mentioned. As he parks his car, he sees Stevie look his way, eyes narrowed. She sets down the black plastic garbage bag she had been filling and stalks toward his car. </p><p>Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.</p><p>“Nope!” Stevie hollers at him as he gets out of his car, the gravel from the parking lot digging into the soft soles of his feet. “No. Go away, Patrick. He doesn’t want to see you.”</p><p>“But I—“</p><p>Stevie silences him with a glare that could peel paint, her hands planted firmly on her hips. She’s so tiny, but she looms large in front of Patrick, an immovable obstacle, like a bouncer at an exclusive club. The kind of club David would have frequented in his heyday in New York. </p><p>“He is devastated, Patrick. <em> Devastated.” </em> She jabs him in the chest with the tip of her finger. “How could you... <em> why </em> would you—“ She breaks off, shaking her head. “You know what? No. I don’t care, and it’s none of my business.”</p><p>“Stevie…” Patrick hates the wheedling, whiny tone to his voice. “Please. I need to see him.”</p><p>Stevie scoffs and rolls her eyes. “And when did this become about what <em> you </em> want?” </p><p>“I—“ Patrick begins, but is cut short when Mr. Rose appears from around the side of the motel balancing a stack of plastic serving bowls in one hand and toting Stevie’s abandoned garbage bag in the other.</p><p>“Oh. Patrick!” Mr. Rose says, his face going on a journey that could rival one of David’s. “I didn’t expect to see you here. We were just talking about you at dinner, weren’t we, Stevie?”</p><p>Patrick has never wanted to disappear more in his entire life. He wills a crack to open in the walkway and swallow him whole.</p><p>“Yeah. I...I heard.”</p><p>“Met a friend of yours, actually,” Mr. Rose continues, oblivious. “I didn’t really catch who she was, or what all the kerfuffle was about. I looked down at my plate for a second, and when I looked up, everyone was upset.”</p><p>Patrick didn’t think it was possible, but he feels even worse now. All of this had come out in front of David’s family. It’s no wonder David doesn’t want to see him. Patrick can’t even imagine the humiliation he must have felt, to have Patrick’s great deception revealed in front of his parents, his sister, his...Stevie. He ducks his head and rubs anxiously at the back of his neck. </p><p>“Yeah, well...I was hoping to see David. T-to sort things out. With him.”</p><p>“Oh, well,” Mr. Rose says, eyebrows bouncing with uncertainty. “I think David’s in his room. But he was in one of his moods, so you know...Might want to, uh, give him some space.”</p><p>Patrick is honestly a little annoyed with Mr. Rose’s comment. David has every right to be in “one of his moods”. Patrick has broken his trust. All David had ever asked of him was honesty, and Patrick hasn’t been honest. It’s as simple as that. He hasn’t <em> lied, </em> but he has certainly withheld important facts from David, and that’s just as bad as lying, as far as Patrick is concerned.</p><p>He feels like he should defend David and his “mood” somehow. But before he can think of what to say or how to say it, the door to David’s room opens and Alexis pokes her head out. </p><p>“Oh my God! What is going on out here? People are trying to <em> mourn </em> in here!” She flicks her hair over her shoulder with an irritated huff, then her eyes fall on Patrick. “Oh. It’s you.”</p><p>Her words are pointed, but there’s a softness to her eyes that, frankly, Patrick is grateful to see.</p><p>“Can I—“ he begins, but Alexis holds up a silencing finger before glancing back into the room. She quickly steps out into the walkway, which is getting a little crowded, and closes the door behind her.</p><p>“Um...maybe not, like, the best time, Patrick,” she says, her hands drawn up to her chest, fingers fiddling with her rings in a gesture that is startlingly reminiscent of her brother.</p><p>Patrick sighs and rakes his fingers agitatedly through his hair. He wants to cry. He wants to crumple into a heap on the dusty walkway outside of David’s room and set up camp, to stay parked right here on his doorstep, until David will talk to him. </p><p>Alexis reaches out to pat at his arm with a limp-wristed hand. “I’ll just...let me ask him.” She turns, one hand on the doorknob. Stevie makes a noise like she wants to stop Alexis, but the two women stare meaningfully at one another until Stevie throws her hands in the air and stalks away toward the office, something that sounds a lot like “it’s your funeral” muttered under her breath as Alexis disappears into the room she shares with her brother.</p><p>Patrick can hear the faint hum of quiet voices beyond the closed door, but can’t make out the words. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and scuffs the sole of his foot against the ground, the cotton of his sock catching at the uneven surface. He notices a small hole in the toe of his sock. He wiggles his big toe. The hole grows and grows until the tip of Patrick’s toe pokes through.</p><p>He’s almost forgotten that Mr. Rose is still there, he’s so quiet. He doesn’t say anything, but he shifts his grip on the garbage bag in his hand and the rustle of the plastic draws Patrick’s attention. </p><p>“Can I help you with that, Mr. Rose?” he says, indicating both the bag in one hand and the stack of dishes balanced precariously in the other.</p><p>Mr. Rose starts, as if he too had forgotten about Patrick. “Oh! Uh, no. No, that’s alright, Patrick. I’ve got it.” He reaffirms his grip on his wares and nods his head toward the office. “I should, uh, go take care of this. Uh...unless you want...I could stay?”</p><p>Patrick offers a weak smile. “No. Thank you, Mr. Rose. You don’t have to stay.”</p><p>Mr. Rose nods and begins to walk away. He pauses beside Patrick and his eyebrows furrow into a frown. He clears his throat. “You know, I was never very involved in David’s previous relationships. Never got to meet most of the people he dated, and certainly never got a chance to know any of them,” he muses, and Patrick can see the regret in Mr. Rose’s eyes. “But, uh, I can say with absolute certainty that I have never seen him as happy as he has been these past few months, Patrick.”</p><p>All the air seems to squeeze out of Patrick’s lungs as his heart expands to fill his entire chest. He blinks hard to hold back the tears burning behind his eyes. </p><p>Mr. Rose sets the garbage bag down on the ground at his feet and places a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Don’t let him push you away,” he says with a firmness that makes Patrick feel a little bit braver. “He’s scared and hurt. But he...he cares for you. And if you care for him like I think you do, well—“ Mr. Rose breaks off and smiles a little ruefully at Patrick, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “—David is a lot like his mother. And sometimes when she’s upset, she just needs a little time and a little patience. So.” He nods decisively, punctuating the end of his little speech. It’s the most Patrick has ever heard David’s father say in one go, aside from the awkward rambling stories that cause David and Alexis to roll their eyes and sigh as if the world is ending. Patrick feels undeserving. And more grateful than he can articulate at the generosity of Mr. Rose’s words. </p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Rose,” Patrick says. He nods once more, picking up his garbage bag and heading off toward the office.</p><p>Patrick leans back against the wall outside David’s door, his hands in his pockets, head tipped back against the wooden slatted siding. The gentle hum of cicadas and the soft scent of lavender wash over him with the light evening breeze. He can’t appreciate either, they barely register through his misery.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>A hand flutters at his shoulder and Patrick pushes himself from the wall, suddenly alert. Alexis stands beside him, a tentative smile on her face.</p><p>“Hey! Is he...can I see him?” Patrick’s stomach twists with nerves until Alexis gives him the tiniest of nods.</p><p>“He’s in the bathroom. He doesn’t want you to see him like this,” she says, slipping her hand into the crook of Patrick’s elbow. She guides him to sit at the foot of her own bed, then touches the tip of his nose with her finger. “Give him a minute. And...be gentle, okay?”</p><p>Patrick is about to protest. When has he ever been anything but gentle with David’s feelings? Then he remembers why he’s here and he nods solemnly.</p><p>“Mkay.” Alexis turns to go, pulling the door closed on her way out. And Patrick sits. He’s never spent all that much time in the Rose siblings’ room before, aside from picking David up for a date. It’s...well, nice isn’t the right word, really. Neither is homey. Or cozy. At least not on the surface. </p><p>Maybe it’s the little touches he sees strewn about that give it the feeling of hominess. Coziness. David’s clothes hung so neatly in his side of the closet, Alexis’s piled high on the floor of her side. Alexis’s little office area, much more neatly arranged than her closet. David’s bed, meticulously made in his signature black and white. And then he sees the framed receipt, in a place of prestige on a small table near the door to Mr. and Mrs. Rose’s room. Patrick had agonized over that frame, not wanting to fall short, like he had with the much-too-corporate frame for David’s business licence. Patrick had wanted this frame to show that he was listening, that he saw David, understood him. And David has placed it just so, in a place of honour, so that he can see it while he’s lying in bed, while he sits at the small dining area. A constant reminder of how Patrick feels about him. How much he cares.</p><p>Patrick isn’t even aware that he’s gotten to his feet, that he’s picked up the frame in his hands. He jolts when a voice sounds from nearby.</p><p>“Do you want it back?” </p><p>He looks up to see David standing in the bathroom doorway. He has a few inches on Patrick, but in this moment, he looks so small. His shoulders are scrunched up around his ears and his arms are crossed protectively over his chest. Every inch of him screams <em> don’t see me, </em>and a wave of sadness washes over Patrick. He did that. He made David feel small. He longs to reach out and stroke away the anxiety pinched between David’s eyebrows, wipe away the tears gathered at the corners of his red-rimmed eyes. But he doesn’t. Because he has lost the right to do that, to just touch David whenever he wants.</p><p>“What?” Patrick gasps, setting the frame down with a clatter. “No! David, no. That was a gift.”</p><p>David makes what Patrick thinks might be an affirming noise, but it seems to lose steam on its journey up David’s throat, coming out more like a whimper.</p><p>“David—“</p><p>“Six months,” David says, interrupting. His voice is hoarse, a husky whisper that, under different circumstances, Patrick would find sexy. But right now, they make Patrick’s blood run cold.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You left her six months ago. She’s been trying to reach out to you for <em> six months. </em>”</p><p>Patrick ducks his head. He can’t look at David right now. He can feel the weight of his gaze bearing down heavily on his shoulders. “I know.”</p><p>“So, even before we...even before <em> us,” </em> David says, his voice breaking, “She was trying to get back with you.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He hears David suck in a ragged breath. “Okay. Okay,” he says, almost to himself. Patrick glances up. David is nodding to himself, his lips tucked between his teeth, his expression blank. “Did you ever text her back?”</p><p>“No! David no!” Patrick exclaims. He needs David to know that this was one sided. It was Rachel trying to get back together with him, not the other way around. “I would never…I wouldn’t do that to you.”</p><p>David’s nodding stops. He looks sadly back at Patrick. “So you ghosted her,” he says flatly. “The woman you were supposed to marry, you just left and you ignored her? For <em> six months?!” </em></p><p>Patrick blinks. That’s not...no. It wasn’t like that. He wants to tell David, but a little voice in the back of his mind tells him that no, it was <em> exactly </em> like that. </p><p>He hangs his head, staring at his big toe through the hole in his sock. Has it gotten bigger? “Yes,” he says finally. Because he has to fill the uncomfortable silence between them with something.</p><p>“That’s cruel, Patrick,” David says, his voice sharp. “That’s so cruel. And you’re not a cruel person.” He pauses, inhales a shaky breath. “At least I thought you weren’t. I thought you were <em> nice.” </em></p><p>And, okay. That hurts. More than anything David has said to him, or could say to him, that hurts the most. Because Patrick has always tried to be the nicest version of himself for David. It’s not fair for David to judge him so harshly based on this one act, this one thing he’s done that’s not nice. </p><p>Leaving Rachel and his old life behind had been the best decision he’d ever made, and he doesn’t regret doing it. But he regrets <em> how </em> he did it. His execution was severely lacking. He hadn’t been fair to her. He’d just...left her. With no explanation, no closure. He’d put a ring on her finger and had that ring flung back in his face. He’d ignored her increasingly desperate texts and attempts to connect, hoping she’d just take the hint and leave him alone. But they’d been together for over ten years, and he’d loved her. He still loves her. Just not the way she needs or deserves from him. She’s important to him and he owes her so much more than that. “No, you’re right. It wasn’t nice.”</p><p>He waits for David to say something—anything—but David is just staring back at him, as if he’s really seeing Patrick for the first time. Uncomfortable silences have never sat well with Patrick, and he grasps for something to say, something to fill the void.</p><p>“I never meant for you to find out about Rachel this way.”</p><p>“You never meant for me to find out about her at all,” David amends with an injured sniff. </p><p>“I…” Patrick begins. But David is right. He’d kept Rachel from David because the way he’d left her made him look bad, and he only wanted David to see the best parts of himself. Shame burns Patrick’s cheeks. “I didn’t want it to mess with what we had.” He knows that as far as excuses go, it’s inadequate. But it’s all he has.</p><p>David shakes his head, his eyes bright with tears yet to come. “If one of my exes was trying to win me back, wouldn’t you want to know? Don’t you think you’d deserve to know?”</p><p>“We agreed to lock all that up,” Patrick snaps defensively. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets them. David’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.</p><p>“Right. Well,” David says, arms crossed even more tightly over his chest. The muscles in his jaw clench, the knot of tension visible under the dark shadow of his stubble. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, timid. Maybe even regretful. “The difference is that something is trying to get out from the box where you locked it up.” He blinks and a tear trickles down his cheek, disappearing into the stubble at his jawline. “Nothing is ever going to try to get out of my box, Patrick. None of my exes are ever going to show up here, hoping to win me back.”</p><p>“Sebastien—“ The name comes unbidden to Patrick’s tongue, slithers from between his lips like the man himself, serpentine and repugnant.</p><p>David lets out a sharp bark of laughter, but it holds no humour. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He looks at Patrick again, his eyes wide and dark. And wounded. “Oh my God, Patrick! Sebastien didn’t come here to win me back. He came here to fuck me over! And to fuck over my mom while he was at it.” He spits the words out, like red hot nails, piercing the fragile shell of Patrick’s heart. “And you already knew about him, because I <em> told you, </em> even though we weren’t...before we were…” David heaves out a tremulous sigh, his hands and arms flailing around him as he speaks. “I wanted you to know. Before we...I wanted you to see. That I’m damaged goods.” He turns his gaze on Patrick once more. “Do you know what’s in my box, Patrick?”</p><p>Patrick shakes his head. He doesn’t want David to say it. Because he already knows.</p><p>“My box is filled with a thousand Sebastiens.” David’s voice is thick, filled with emotion and humiliation. Pain and resignation.  “Do you want me to go into detail?”</p><p>“David—“</p><p>“Should I tell you how I debased and debauched myself for any little scrap of affection? That I bought their attention because I didn’t have anything else to offer them? Is that what I need to do? In order for you to tell me that you were with <em> one woman </em> for over ten years? And that you left her, and she’s been trying to reach you for <em> six months?” </em></p><p>Patrick can feel the hot sting of tears in his own eyes now, taste the salt at the corners of his lips. “I’m sorry, David,” he whispers. He couldn’t make his voice any louder if his life depended on it. It takes all his self control not to fall on his knees at David’s feet. “I wasn’t...they way I left things with Rachel was wrong. I know that. But I—“ He swipes at his eyes, his cheeks, dashing away his tears, “—I didn’t understand why I left her! I just knew it wasn’t working, and I couldn’t fall back into that same pattern again! And s-she does this! This thing where she texts me gibberish, and I respond and then the next thing I know, we're back together. And I didn’t want that! Not after...not after I met you. And everything started to make sense. I finally understood why it never worked between Rachel and me, why things never felt right.”</p><p>He’s panting now, breathless and tense. His heart is thudding so loudly in his chest he’s certain David can hear it. David, who is finally looking at him like he understands—maybe just a little—why Patrick had done what he’d done. Behaved the way he’d behaved. He takes a step toward David, pausing, giving David a chance to tell him no, to back away. But David stands firm, and Patrick takes another step, and then another until he is close enough to smell David’s cologne, faded but still lingering at the end of a long day. </p><p>“I spent my entire life not knowing what <em> right </em> was supposed to feel like, David. Until I met you.”</p><p>David’s lower lip twitches, his fingers curl and uncurl at his sides. Patrick takes one step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off David’s body, the familiar pull of longing. He inhales another deep breath, and tells David his truth.</p><p>“You make me feel right, David.” He pours every ounce of emotion, of sincerity, of energy he has left into that one sentence. And then he waits.</p><p>David closes his eyes, and tears slip down the side of his face. Patrick longs to kiss them away, but he knows he hasn’t earned back that right. Not yet. </p><p>“Um,” David says, eyes open and fixed on Patrick, “That was quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, outside of the <em> Downton Christmas Special.” </em></p><p>Patrick can’t help but smile, small and tired. “It’s the truth,” he says hopefully. </p><p>David nods, his lips tucked together between his teeth. His eyes are still glassy with emotion, but his features are sharp, guarded. “It’s like I said though...my truth is that I am damaged goods, and this—“ He gestures to the empty space between them, “—has really messed things up for me. And I think I’m going to need some time with it.”</p><p>The world falls out from beneath Patrick’s feet. David wants some time. Time away from Patrick. He needs a break. From Patrick. So they’re on a break...are they broken up? Is David breaking up with him? His chest feels three sizes too small for all of the feelings happening inside him, and he takes a step back. He nods, because he’s in no position to argue with David, though he wants to. He wants to tell David that they don’t need a break. Or that David can take all the time in the world, if he’ll just let Patrick sit beside him while he does it. Maybe hold his hand. Maybe...maybe even kiss, while David takes some time.</p><p>But he knows that’s not how this works. David needs some time, and Patrick will give it to him. “Okay,” he says, his voice hoarse with disappointment. He nods, he steps back, headed for the door. </p><p>“Um…”</p><p>How one syllable can hold so much hope is a mystery to Patrick, but it does. It says <em> “wait”, </em> it says <em> “don’t go”, </em> it says <em> “stay”. </em> Patrick turns back to David, trying not to read too much into that one little word. “Yes?”</p><p>“Talk to Rachel,” David says, snuffing out all hope of an imminent reconciliation. “S-she’s really nice, and she loves you. Please try to make things right with her. I need to know that you can do that. Let her out of the box, Patrick.”</p><p>Patrick feels his shoulders slump, and he nods his head. “Okay.” </p><p>“And Patrick?”</p><p>Patrick’s heart stops, his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”</p><p>“Where the fuck are your shoes?”</p><p>Patrick’s face crumbles and he lets out a watery laugh. “I was in such a rush, I left the house without them.”</p><p>David cocks an eyebrow at him. “You know my stance on sock feet,” he says.</p><p>Patrick chuckles again and swipes at his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I do.”</p><p>David’s lip twitches ever so slightly. “I’m glad you came. Even if your footwear is unforgivably incorrect.” And then all humour is gone from David’s face and he just looks incredibly sad. “No one...no one has ever bothered to—I didn’t think I was worth the trouble. Of racing over here with no shoes, just to talk. I—“ he frowns, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. “Thank you, Patrick.”</p><p>“You’re worth that and more, David,” Patrick says. He smiles and then he turns the knob and he’s outside, on the wrong side of David’s door. It’s dark out now, and he’s alone in front of the motel. He takes a moment to collect himself. Then he wanders down the walkway toward Rachel’s room.</p><p>He is going to earn back David’s trust any way he can. And David asked him to make things right with Rachel. Patrick doesn’t know if that’s possible, but he’s going to try. Because he’d climb a thousand mountains for David Rose. And this is the first step.</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Big thank you to januarium for reading this through for me, and assuring me that it was not just a messy jumble of meaningless words. ❤️ </p><p>I have laboured over this story for so long, and I am anxious to know what people think. Please feel free to leave a comment or a kudos! And come say hi over on Tumblr @delilah-mcmuffin</p><p>Until next time,</p><p>D McM</p></blockquote></div></div>
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